I never expected to fall in love with something that made me miserable.
That’s what comes back to me, as I think back to my first run with the Belmont High School cross country team in August 2023. It was right before freshman year, and somehow I’d ended up at the Belmont Center underpass with sweat dripping down my forehead, a cramp tugging at my side, lungs sucking in as much oxygen as they could hold. I’d only covered a half mile, but it felt like a half marathon. I turned right through Belmont Center onto Channing Road, where the pavement stretched into the distance, shimmering with heat under the August sun.
I wasn’t an outdoors person. I hated the heat and crowds, but I signed up anyway, motivated by the (false) promise of brownies after races. And when I started practicing with the team, I quickly realized a fundamental truth: running is not very fun.
Cross country is hard. Every loop around Fresh Pond left me panting and exhausted. The workouts seemed like uniquely cruel punishments — sprinting up the hill near the Underwood Pool, circling Clay Pit Pond at full speed again and again. The training was monotonous, the races were brutal, and I dreaded most practices.
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So why did I keep running?
The answer surprised me: I loved having sore legs.
I didn’t love the twinges of pain when I walked down the stairs. What I loved was the satisfaction that came with the soreness. Sore legs were proof that I’d pushed myself — that I was getting stronger and hopefully faster.
That’s why — no matter how much I dreaded practice — running felt like a worthwhile activity. The feeling of having run justified the agony of running.
We all do things that provide us with that maddening mixture of frustration and satisfaction. Whether it’s perfecting a tennis serve, mastering a new language, or learning how to ballroom dance. There’s something universal about taking on new and difficult challenges, no matter our age or abilities. Often, these new challenges lead us to a group of like-minded people, all enjoying the same struggle. Misery, as they say, loves company.
So on that hot August day on the first day of summer training, I kept running. I pushed myself down Channing Road over to Brighton Street, and onto Hittinger Street. Eventually, I saw Coach Melissa Tkacs standing with a stopwatch at the edge of Clay Pit Pond. Every part of my lungs burned, every fiber of muscle in my legs cramped as I sprinted. But I finished.
I’ve run almost every day since then, and if I’m being totally honest, most days I dread it. Even when I’m not getting faster or stronger, and everything just hurts, I run. Because doing hard things shapes you in ways you never could have expected.
Siri Iagnemma is a rising senior at Belmont High School and writes about Gen Z for The Belmont Voice.